Sooner
by rscoil
Summary: Christine's father plays matchmaker. Modern AU.


"Christine, do you ever think of dating?"

Christine looked up at her father. He was buttering bread as if he hadn't just called out the elephant in the room. She shrugged. "I suppose. I just haven't found the time."

And it was true. Four years of exhaustion in college, two years being rejected at every audition, and three years working an office job. She didn't hate her current job, but she missed the thrill of audience applause. She wasn't where she thought she'd be at 30. She still felt a twinge of jealousy every time she saw one of her former classmates announcing their new show.

Her father set down the butter knife. "There's a new kid in the orchestra. Well, I say 'kid,' but he's probably a few years older than you. Superb violinist. I wouldn't be surprised if he takes first chair when I retire."

"What are you getting at?"

"Now, I'm just an old romantic, but I think he'd be good for you, Lotte."

"Dad, I love you, but you don't have to get involved in my love life."

"I just want you to be happy. If you want me to stay out of it, I will, but I do think you should give Erik a chance."

* * *

There was a knock on the door as the clock struck six. She could hear her father answering it and tried to brace herself.

It was just dinner at her house, with her dad. It wasn't a date, not really.

Her first impression was that he was tall. She was nearly six feet tall herself, so that was saying something. He had to duck to make it through the dining room doorway and she wondered how he fit those spindly legs in a cramped orchestra pit.

"You must be Christine. I'm Erik."

That voice. She'd never heard anything like it in all her years of performing. She wanted to wrap herself in its warmth and not emerge until spring.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

Indeed, her father had talked nonstop about his new prodigy. She'd been warned in no uncertain terms not to stare at Erik's mask. Cleverly matched to his skin tone, it covered the top half of his face. His hairline disguised the top edges, while a short beard hid the lower. From a distance, she wouldn't have known anything was amiss.

She was spared the awkwardness of small talk by her father's return. Charles chose that moment to enter the room with a serving bowl of pasta and a basket of garlic bread. "Let's eat before this gets cold."

* * *

As the evening wore on, Erik grew more comfortable with his surroundings. He seemed fascinated by the small house. From the wooden trim to her grandmother's china, he drank it all in. She watched him apprehensively, certain that the scrutiny would end in some condescending remark, but it never came.

He offered to wash the dishes while she dried. Bent low over the tiny sink, he handled each dish with delicate musician's hands. Charles had excused himself. She could hear his violin in the room beyond.

"Your father is a genius." Admiration saturated every word. "I'm lucky he took a chance on me."

"You should be proud to have made the cut. He doesn't settle for mediocrity."

"No, he doesn't," Erik chuckled. "I'm also glad that blind auditions are becoming more common. It's nice to have my skills assessed before my face."

"That was Dad's idea. It's an effort to control biased hiring."

"As I said, I'm grateful for it."

And the conversation moved on with no further mention of his mask.

* * *

"Christine, would you like to sing?"

Her father's question shook her from a cocoon of bliss woven by the two violins. She shied away, "Dad, it's been years since I've performed."

"Nonsense. I still hear you warm up every morning. Besides, this is hardly a performance. It's our living room."

She reluctantly agreed. "One song."

She was nervous as she stood beside her father and waited for her cue. She tried to tell herself that she was being ridiculous. She was only singing in her own living room.

Her nerves relaxed as her father played. If only he could accompany her at auditions.

Erik's eyes grew wider as the piece progressed. When they finished, he applauded. "You have a lovely voice, Christine. It sounds like you've had instruction."

To hear a heavenly voice praise her singing felt almost comical. "My degree is in musical theatre."

"How was that?" he asked. "I considered a minor in vocal performance. The instructor seemed determined to botch my voice, so I dropped it after the first semester."

Christine frowned. "There were never enough instructors. They just made sure everyone got the basics."

"Forgive me, but that's audible in your voice."

She sank back onto the couch. "I guess that's why no one in the field wants to hire me."

"Please don't misunderstand me. You've had poor instruction, but you don't possess a poor instrument. If you'd like, I would love to work on your voice."

"What's the catch?"

He laughed. "There's not one, but you can pay me with more of that garlic bread."

* * *

It was close to midnight by the time Erik left.

Charles locked the door with a satisfied smirk. "Wasn't I right about him?"

"You may have a point," Christine agreed as she collected the empty glasses from the living room.

He followed her into the kitchen. "And he's going to help you with your voice."

She smiled despite herself. "It'll be nice to study voice again. I've missed it."

"You two are going to be the toast of the town. I can feel it."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," she laughed. "Let's start with music and we'll see where it goes. It's great that you found a talent like his. I just have one question."

"What's that?"

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"


End file.
